


she (she lives in daydreams with me)

by kaleleafs



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aliases, Alternate Meetings, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassin Natasha Romanov, Both of them, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, KGB natasha romanov, Manipulative Nick Fury, Manipulative Relationship, Merchant of Death Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Tony Stark, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Russian Natasha Romanov, SHIELD, Slow Burn, Spy Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unresolved Emotional Tension, it's like strangers to acquaintances to teammates to lovers?, so good you should listen, the title is a harry styles song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleleafs/pseuds/kaleleafs
Summary: They're both two incredibly dangerous people forced into a business they have no desire to be in. Him with his ability to outsmart any person in the room and create war at his fingertips and her with her body and cunning that allow her to bend powerful people to her will. Both weapons in their own right but still unable to forge their own paths.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 101





	she (she lives in daydreams with me)

Tony sees her for the first time when he turns 32. She's a brilliant blonde with striking emerald eyes on the arm of some wealthy entrepreneur that Tony is supposed to pretend he knows the name of. She's a young little thing, though looks can be deceiving, with vibrant red lips that contrast the black dress that highlights wonderful curves. He can't keep his eyes off her.

For her part, she plays the ideal arm candy well. She laughs at all the right times, leans into the entrepreneur like an enamored young adult might and never takes more than her fill-- whether it be alcohol or attention. Tony knows this because he never quite manages to stop looking the entire night.

Admittedly, Tony is much more concerned with where he'll be finding his next drink, his next way to make a quick buck or the next person to fall into bed with to be too worried about her. After all, beautiful men and women alike fall at the feet of Tony Stark, what is one stunning young blonde at a random charity gala in the scheme of things?

So he, too, plays his part; he takes pictures with big investors, flirts the best of them and lets Obie hand him an endless stream of drinks. And if the little blonde with the lethal eyes stays in the corner of his mind all night, well, no one has to know but him.

\- - - - - -

When Tony is 35, Stark Industries releases a new string of assault rifles. The military, and Rhodey for that matter, is over the moon which might make the whole thing worth it (it's not worth it, but Tony would never say that). Weapons are absurdly easy to make, and, well, Tony is a little bored if he's being honest. What good is being a genius if only to do the same things over and over again and only make the world a little better every time?

But, of course, there's a party.

Tony may be bored with the normal work aspect of his everyday life, but partying is something he enjoys. It's something he's good at. He supposes he has Howard to thank for the way he enjoys the taste of a smooth whiskey on his tongue and the sweetness of a mixed drink on a woman's lips.

If Tony has to live up to Howard's legacy he figures he might as well go all out.

Tony puts on a mask for the party-- a tight-fitted Tom Ford suit complete with a pair of dark-tinted designer sunglasses. Tony can't really remember the last time he's gone out of the mansion without a mask on, it seems few and far between these days. It's unsettling and he doesn't like feeling unsure, like he's out of place at his own event.

But partying, partying is familiar. And drinking, drinking he can do.

He allows himself to be pulled to different circles and talks to a variety of people, never without a drink in his hand or a trademark smirk on his lips. The hand Obie places in-between his shoulder blades as they do their usual schmoozing manages to feel more restrictive than comforting, and Tony eventually slinks away to the bar in search of some comfort.

He's buzzed and his skin feels too hot, uncomfortable like it isn't his own, which is the only reason he doesn't feel another person come up next to him.

"This is quite the party," his new company muses, voice feminine and soft with a hint of a foreign accent. Tony isn't ashamed to say he startles at the sound and turns to meet his new companion head on. "I believe a congratulations is in order."

Her voice gets lost in the image Tony is taking in, unable to focus on anything other than the beautiful woman in front of him. A better man would keep eye contact, would make this woman feel comfortable talking to him, would assure her he's not only after one thing. But Tony has never claimed to be a good man and if this woman is here, at his party of all things, then she knows all about his reputation. By the way she's smirking at him now, she doesn't seem to care.

She has dark brown hair that falls in careful waves down her shoulders wearing a red dress that shows off, what Tony isn't ashamed to note is, a wonderful chest. With dark eyes and red lips, she looks like a fallen angel. Dangerous, for sure. Tony is intrigued all the more for it.

Rhodey always did say he has a tendency to rush head first into a dangerous situation.

"Congratulations, huh?" He takes a sip of his drink, narrowing his eyes in a look that has bedded men and women alike. "It does seem like my lucky day."

"Ever the charmer, Mr. Stark, but I was simply talking about your recent line of weapons." The accent is definitely doing things for Tony, and judging by those upturned red lips, his fallen angel certainly knows this as well.

"Please, Mr. Stark was my father. Call me Tony," he smiles then, white teeth and glinting eyes. "I apologize, but I didn't take you as a weapons connoisseur, darling."

He leans closer to her, one arm on the bar and the other on his lap waiting for the slightest inclination that she's as into this as he is. Tony Stark may be a lot of things, but consent is non-negotiable. Unless it's consensual non-consent then, well, that's a little different.

"That is where you're wrong, Tony." Oh, his name sounds downright sinful in that accent, tempting red lips rounding over the letters. "My boss can appreciate a good weapon and I know my way around one. There's something... beautiful about a nice weapon. Dangerous," she inches closer, painted nails tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Yes, dangerous indeed.

"And who is it you work for that appreciates... such nice things, angel?"

"I work in intelligence," she responds simply. "It's important to always have a few tricks up your sleeve."

"Mmm, and I'm sure a pretty thing like you has plenty," Tony leers appreciatively, happy to see a bitten lip as the response. "And the accent?"

"Bulgarian," she responds, shifting the tiniest bit closer. "And what about you, Tony? Certainly a genius such as yourself must have a few... tricks up your sleeve." Her fingers are on his arm now, manicured nails trailing ever so slowly up his suit jacket.

"I'm an open book I'm afraid. What you see is what you get. I tend to stick to the family business so, between you and me, I'm sure you can be expecting more of those weapons your boss is so fond of."

It's not a lie and Tony is not dumb. He knows what she's looking for, that she wants intel on specific designs and weapons plans that she thinks he'll be stupid enough to give her after a few drinks or for the promise of sex. He's sure stronger men than himself have succumbed to this woman, as powerful in her seduction as she is. What she doesn't know is that he's been there, done that, has given away designs in exchange for lies and false loves too many times to fall for it again.

Many people have tried since Sunset and Ty succeeded, and people will continue to try for as long as he lives.

But while he doesn't tell her his plans, he doesn't lie to her either. There will be more weapons on the market as long as Obie pushes Tony to make more and, while it was never the life he envisioned for himself, it's the life he always knew he would have. It's what Howard wanted and so it will be so.

The woman must notice something in his expression, maybe she realizes Tony isn't going to slip and give her what she wants, or maybe she realizes he's tired of talking about the success of his company because her next question takes him by surprise.

"Are you not happy making weapons?" She asks and he's surprised to find those piercing eyes looking right into his own, almost like they can see right into his soul. He wouldn't be surprised, he thinks, if they could. "You have a brilliant mind, Tony."

Tony doesn't do the whole "feelings" thing, it's much too exhausting and gets in the way of all of the fun stuff. But, for once, Tony finds himself meeting her stare head on and answering in kind.

"Are you not happy working for your boss, angel? You have a beautiful body."

They stare at each other for a few long seconds then, and he thinks that they have some sort of twisted understanding. He thinks, as he leads her to the elevator that'll take them up to his room, that she gets it in a way no one else does. His assumption is confirmed when their lips crash together hungrily as the doors slide closed.

He can taste her desperation on his tongue and knows she can taste the same from him. They're both two incredibly dangerous people forced into a business they have no desire to be in. Him with his ability to outsmart any person in the room and create war at his fingertips and her with her body and cunning that allow her to bend powerful people to her will. Both weapons in their own right but still unable to forge their own paths.

Tony can imagine how lethal she is in the silent way she moves, stalking him like the prey he doesn't mind being. And, when she strips out of her red dress and straddles him, pale skin laid bare to him covered in tiny scars he has no business asking about, he tells her as much. He tells her how dangerous she is, how the way she moves should be a sin and she answers with gasps and muffled curses of her own.

It's rough and hot and incredibly messy when she rides him, their understanding transferring over to the bedroom as Tony meets her thrust for thrust. For the rest of the night they don't talk in more than one word curses and moans, both preferring to leave well enough alone.

That's all well and good for Tony who's more than happy to not know this dark angel's name because he knows she'll be gone in the morning when he wakes.

Unconcerned, when all is said and done, he allows himself to fall into a satiated mess on the bed and close his eyes.

And, if, somewhere in the back of his mind as he falls asleep in a post-orgasm bliss, he notes that those piercing emerald eyes had looked awfully familiar, then that's no one's business but his own.

\- - - - - -

He thinks of her from time to time after that. In his mind, she's more of a daydream than a memory, an inkling of what could be if he were a different person.

Sometimes he wakes up and imagines, if things were different, that he could settle down, actually live his life. He could find someone as twisted as he is that might actually be able to love him. Whoever the person is that he dreams of, they would understand why he is the way he is, what made him get to this point in his life. They would accept his dozens of flaws and see past all of the masks he throws up as a distraction.

This person would understand that Tony Stark is a weapon, whether he makes them or not.

The childish daydreams of this life that is just out of reach haunt him at different times throughout the next few years. They drift into his thoughts during endless hours of work, at board meetings he's forced to attend and when he sees a pair of lovers on the street.

They haunt him in the cave, taunt him, remind him of everything he doesn't deserve and will never have. Because Tony Stark is a weapon, destined to be alone. A man who has everything and nothing.

This mysterious daydream never has a name and Tony doesn't know who they are, but, for some reason, they always have piercing green eyes.

\- - - - - -

Tony Stark does not fear dying. The Merchant of Death cannot fear his own name. The company, struggling though it is, is finally getting back on track and Tony doesn't have to make weapons anymore. He never has to make a gun or a missile or a bomb again if he doesn't want to. He can help people through green energy or new, innovative technology. He can help people without killing hundreds of others in the process.

But he's dying.

He supposes he can't be angry. He deserves it.

The whole dying thing might be why he doesn't put the similarities together. He has a whole lot of other things he has to prepare for, he has no reason to worry about Pepper's new assistant when he has to get his will in place, sign papers making Pepper CEO and make preparations for the future of his bots after he's out of the picture.

But eventually he does know it, if not for better lack of trying. Natalie is a pretty little thing with auburn hair and a mask as good as, if not better than, Tony's own. When she takes down Happy with little prompting at all, Tony knows instantly that she's dangerous.

Eight years ago, a different Tony Stark would have jumped on that right away. But now, at almost 40, Tony is dying and he does not have time for distractions that could end his life early.

And he is under no assumptions that she couldn't do it.

So he lets Pepper and Natalie plan his schedule and delegate his time all-the-while trying to keep himself from dying an untimely death. It isn't until facing death head-on for the third time in the last three years that he realizes, on the night of his birthday, that this is it. There will be no more birthdays, no more years after this one.

The thought is more sad than he anticipated.

He's had a bit to drink because it's his birthday and he's dying, sue him, which might be what brings the whole thing with Natalie to a head.

She's been helping him get ready and Tony can't shake the somber mood, can't shake the feeling that he's been in this situation before. He thinks Natalie knows what she's doing when she sits on the armrest of his chair, just a little too close to simply be helping him choose a watch and Tony tries to remind himself that he makes it a habit not to sleep with employees.

The whole imminent death thing is helping to blur those lines, however.

Tony has no luck with love. Tony has been screwed over by men and women alike, has traded his heart for business deals and lost his shame to preserve some twisted reputation before he was even an adult. He doesn't deserve love either, would never saddle someone with a relationship. He foolishly thought Pepper could be it for him, that she could understand that this is Tony Stark, that he makes mistakes and has too many cracks that can't possibly be taped back together. But he'd realized early on that, as selfish as he may be, he could never put Pepper through the pain being his girlfriend would cause.

Tony isn't reliable, isn't the safe option. Tony is reckless and careless and he's currently dying and Pepper deserves better than that.

Which is why he can let himself break the rules just this once. After all, what are rules made for if not to be broken? He's dying, he's weak, and his body responds to the danger like a siren's call. Tony always has had a thing for beautiful people that can easily end his life.

And, oh, Natalie is beautiful with her auburn hair and a body to compliment it. She moves like a dancer and wields her body like a weapon and Tony can't help but be tempted to taste that power. It's funny, really, how he holds the cards, the money and, yet, she's the one with the ball in her court. How Tony could think she's been anything but in charge since the day she laid Happy out on that mat is beyond him.

She's dangerous and Tony wants.

"Can I ask you something personal?" He says finally after clearing his throat, avoiding Natalie's fiery gaze. Regardless of the lack of eye contact, he can feel her watching, analyzing his every move. He wonders if she likes what she sees and decides he'd rather not know the answer to that. "If this was the last birthday party you were going to have, what would you do?"

It sounds a whole lot more pathetic when he says it out loud than it did in his head, but he doesn't run from it. It's a fair question. He's dying and, shit, he might even be a little sad about it. For her part, Natalie doesn't even seem surprised by the question. Tony almost lets himself think there's sympathy in her eyes for a second, not pity, Natalie doesn't seem like the type to pity anyone.

"I would do whatever I wanted to do with whoever I wanted to do it with."

It's a fair answer but what Natalie doesn't know is that Tony doesn't have anyone to share this with. He can't possibly ask Pepper and Rhodey to cancel the party because he's dying and all he wants is to spend what little time he has left with the people he cares about, is that too much-

Never mind. He thinks Natalie can see it in his eyes, the desire to do more, to be more and the fear that he's coming up short and, once he's dead, he'll never be able to atone for his sins. He thinks she understands. But probably not. Maybe he's just projecting.

So he does the one thing Tony Stark consistently does well— he distracts himself. And if the first press of their lips together feels a little like falling and a lot like finality than Tony supposes he can't ask for a much better way to go out.

\- - - - - -

Again, if Tony weren't dying the whole thing probably would have made him feel a little different. He likes to think that, in any other non-life threatening situation, he would've pieced it all together. He is a genius, he should be a bit brighter than this.

He admits that it's a bit hard to focus when hungover, whole body alight with the pain of palladium poisoning and mind replaying the same few thoughts: please let it end, when will it end, it hurts, it hurts...

The needle he gets in the neck is the least painful thing to happen to him throughout the encounter.

Tony is no stranger to beautiful people using him for something or another. Tiberius wielded sex like a weapon and held Tony hostage with it until he gave up vital blackmail information. Sunset trapped his heart only to release its shattered pieces when she got the SI blueprints her company desired. Rhodey, whether he means to or not, holds their friendship above Tony's head as though it's some justification for him to make weapons.

And now there's Natalie, Natasha, with her bright hair and cool composure, trading sex and late night revelations for what? Weapons? Intel? Company information? Tony can't guess what SHIELD wants from him, can only understand that he's been a pawn in a larger game once again. And how long have they had the answer to his little palladium problem? How long ago could Natalie, Natasha, have saved his life?

Tony knew she was dangerous from the start, but as always, he was naïve enough to believe her intentions were good.

Why is he always attracted to the people who want to hurt him?

"Triple agent, you're good, huh?" He throws back on his sunglasses when he stands, pointedly ignoring Nick Fury's exasperated look. "Is any part of you real?"

\- - - - - -

It comes to a head about a week later when, Tony, freshly juiced up on healthy arc reactor power, is approached by Nick Fury.

Tony knows about the initiative. It hasn't really been his priority, sure, he thinks dying ranks higher on his list than some superhero task force, but Tony remembers. He doesn't really forget things. Both the perk and curse of being a genius.

So he goes to open the Avengers Initiative folder only to be stopped.

"I don't think I want you looking at that," Fury says. "I'm not sure it pertains to you anymore."

He's surprised when he gets his own manila folder instead. Fury doesn't say anything and Tony can admit that he's curious, so with a raised eyebrow at Fury, he opens it.

He doesn't know why betrayal still shocks him.

But it does.

Inside is his picture, his old report cards, transcripts from MIT, major Stark Industries deals, information about his parents' car crash. It's his life, from start to finish, summed up in an ugly buff-colored folder.

He despises it on principle alone.

"This, however, is Agent Romanoff's assessment of you."

That would be all well and good if the information inside the folder detailed Tony's personality and psyche during Natalie Rushman's time at SHIELD, but it's more than that. There's information all the way from Tony's early 30s to now, with pictures to boot.

He barely hears Fury tell him to read it over, like he could be doing anything else. He's not sure which picture, which event or which suit he's wearing connects the dots for him. But something clicks. And once it does, Tony wonders how he missed it all together.

On and off for the last ten or so years of Tony's life, she's been watching him, analyzing, collecting data as if Tony were just another pawn in a game.

Suddenly, the green eyes that haunt his dreams have a face.

He still doesn't know who she is despite knowing what she looks like.

But Tony won't show his hurt, he'll put on a mask. That's what Stark's do, they pretend, they act, and they put on a brave face. Thanks for that lesson, Howard.

"Uhhh, personality overview: Mr. Stark displays compulsive behavior." Tony can't help but wonder when she decided that. The night little red dress rode him until he saw stars or a few days ago when Natalie stabbed him in the neck to keep him from dying. Regardless, Tony says, "in my defense, that was last week."

He keeps reading and, despite knowing that Fury can't possibly tell, can feel his throat growing tighter with every word he reads. Self-destructive tendencies, textbook narcissism, Iron man yes: Tony Stark no.

"How can you approve me but not approve me?"

He wonders if Fury can tell what he's really asking; how can Natasha approve Iron Man and then not approve Tony? Out of everyone, she would know that they're one in the same. He refuses to believe that she didn't see, after every conversation they've managed to have in the dark of the night, obscured by masks, liquor and fancy outfits, that Iron Man isn't the weapon. Tony is the weapon. It would be like approving Natalie Rushman but not approving Natasha Romanoff. They're one in the same, two sides of the same coin.

"At this time, we'd like to simply use you as a consultant."

Tony knows what consultant means. He was Obie's consultant for nearly half his life. It means Tony will fund the projects, he'll make the weapons and be the face of a team that he won't even technically be on. He knows exactly what that's like and he's not sure why he ever felt like he'd be something more.

"You can't afford me," he says because it's all he can think to say and shakes Fury's hand to hide his displeasure.

The girl with the green eyes knew he didn't like doing that, knew he'd never be satisfied sitting on the sidelines writing checks and smiling for the cameras. And yet, here she is making him the show boy once again.

He thinks that hurts the most. That this woman, his daydream that kept him alive against Obie, against the Ten Rings, against palladium poisoning, doesn't get it. She doesn't understand him and never will.

Tony isn't surprised that the revelation feels a bit like having the arc reactor ripped out.

\- - - - - -

"You've been avoiding me."

Tony is tinkering when her voice finds him in the 'shop. It's without a foreign tinge but so similar to a night practically five years ago when a pretty young seductress batted her eyelashes at him at the bar.

He imagines all the men she's tricked feel this way when they find out she's not who she says she is: betrayed, confused, inexplicably turned on. Actually, the last one is probably just him.

After all, he's always been attracted to the things that hurt him the most.

"I usually do a lot worse to people who betray me, Natalie," he remarks, then winces. "Sorry, it's Natasha, right?"

He feels more than hears her move closer and he supposes that's what comes of years of spy training. Never in the years he's known her, despite whatever she called herself, has he ever doubted how lethal she really is. He doesn't doubt it now, either.

"You're hurt," she says simply and Tony is frustrated that she won't just give up the goddamn act already.

"Yes," he says, but even that feels inadequate. "No."

"Who is it you wanted me to be?"

That's the million dollar question isn't it? And it's a good thing Tony is filthy rich because he honestly doesn't have an answer. He wanted her to be the girl in his dreams, the one who made him want a better life with someone who deserved it just as much as he does. He wanted her to see him, just like he thought she did all those years ago. He wanted her to be someone who understood what it's like to be wielded as a weapon against their will.

"Honest," he settles for. "I wanted you to be honest."

"I've never lied to you."

"You never told the truth either."

"You never asked."

"And if I did, would you have told me?" Tony asks already knowing the answer but wanting her to confirm it anyways. He waits a few beats and figures her silence is enough of an answer on its own. "That's what I thought."

"The first time, I was sent to complete a different mission," she says flippantly, as though the lives she's taken and interferes with were simply a means to an end. "Spying on you was simply a bonus. The second time, I was meant to gather intel and assess you. I did. SHIELD wanted Stark weapons and business plans. I was meant to do whatever necessary to secure them."

Tony tries to hide the way the implication of that statement makes him feel. That she could fall into bed with him to obtain information... he'd thought he'd learned after Sunset, but Tony always has been good at disappointing himself.

"You've been spying on me for years, Natasha. What do I even call you? Natalia, the young woman who hangs on the arms of wealthy men? Nina, the Bulgarian weapons connoisseur? Natalie, who worked her way into Stark Industries? Natasha, the SHIELD triple agent?"

"You looked at my file."

"No, I looked at my file and I remember every single one of your aliases, the perks of being a genius." He shakes his head suddenly disgusted with her, with himself, with this whole messed up situation. "Because those conversations actually meant something to me. Maybe that's absurd; billionaire, playboy, philanthropist gets hung up on a handful of 30-minute conversations with a random pretty face, but it's true. I thought you understood. I thought you got what it meant to hate what you're doing so much that you hate yourself for not being able to change something. I thought you knew what it was like to wield a mask because you had to, because you're a weapon and have no control over it-"

He's well-aware that he's breathing heavy now, that his own mask is probably slipping and that she can see right through him. So he does what he does best-- prepares to run.

"-I guess that's all they were though— masks. Maybe I would've known that if I read your file, but unlike you, I don't use someone's past against them."

\- - - - - -

He's 43 when he wakes up lying in the hospital bed, fractures and bruises on his body and throat dryer than when he literally walked barefoot through the desert.

He aches but not too much which means he's on the Good Shit™️ which is honestly for the best because that's the only way he's able to deal with Natasha sitting next to him.

They haven't said more than 20 words to each other since the Avengers were called in and that is fine with Tony. He doesn't know what he'd say to her, he's not sure if he has anything to say.

She's looking at him, though, with that same piercing green gaze that lays him completely bare to her. Once upon a time, that would have scared him. But there's nothing about him that she doesn't know by now so there's nothing left to lose.

"I'm not much for talking. Actions speak louder than words and I never feel a need to justify mine. However, I'm aware that I've hurt you." She pauses as if she's considering that fact for the first time, as if that's all the apology necessary and, at this point, Tony has learned not to expect one.

Tony is man enough to admit that the whole thing is making him uncomfortable and not just due to the fact that she's talking to him, but talking to him honestly. No, it's more than that. It's the warring emotions in his heart, ones he thought he'd locked away long ago that he's much too tired to deal with right now.

"Let me just save you the trouble and say that while it stung for awhile, I'm over it. It's in the past. Can we move on now?"

"No. I need to do this." Her gaze is sharp and... repentant which is how Tony knows she's being honest. She's more than capable of locking her true feelings away behind a mask and never letting anyone see. But now, right now, she's letting Tony in.

That privilege has him feeling a little breathless.

"For a long time, all I had known was my training. I had a mission, it was to be completed or I would be killed. I won't apologize for that." She's not looking at him now, staring at some blank point on the wall to hide her emotions away. "I had my assumptions about you; they were wrong. I didn't understand how such a powerful man could be so broken, know he was broken, and still hold himself together. I let myself become... compromised."

"We slept together, Romanoff," Tony huffs, emotion a bit on the wrong side of neutral. "And then you wrote a bullshit report detailing my supposed 'narcissism' when I know you're intimately familiar with my kind of self-hatred."

Natasha, for her part, at least has the gall to look ashamed. Tony is surprised to note that it doesn't make him feel any better.

"I've put up so many masks in my life that I'm not sure what the truth is anymore," Natasha says. "Each time, you saw through them. Few things in the world scare me like that did. So I may have embellished a little on the report."

And... Tony isn't sure he knows what to make of that. He isn't sure he's ever seen Natasha so much as show a hint of fear in her life. But again, he doesn't think she's lying. Though he didn't think she was lying before, either. It comes down to this-- he doesn't know Natasha at all, he never has. And until this very moment, he thought he never would.

"You were scared? Of me?" He rolls his eyes and decides it's worth the headache that comes with the action. He also likes the smile that ghosts her lips when he does.

"You should be proud of yourself," she says. "Not many have accomplished that."

He's momentarily taken aback. Tony has constructed many beautiful weapons. He's molded them to his hands, bent them to his will. He's welded metal, has been the sole supplier of the army's weaponry and, still, he has never seen nor made a weapon as stunning as her.

They sit in tension-filled silence. It's heavy and full of emotion. Sadness, resentment, fear and caution all intertwine until Tony can't tell what he's feeling anymore. All he can see is green and all he can feel is the goosebumps on his arms. He might understand why she did it, and scarier yet, might even want to forgive her for it. But all weapons are dangerous and she has the ability to hurt him more than anything else. Fool me once...

"What is it you want from me, Natasha?" Tony asks, tired. He isn't sure if it's the drugs or the conversation, but he feels the weariness just as much as the aches in his bones.

"I don't want anything more than you're willing to give me," she responds.

"And what if I have nothing left to give?" He could never leave her out to dry and he thinks she knows that, but if she does, she gives no sign of it. 

"Then I'll live with that," she says, running a careful hand through the mess that's Tony's hair. He doesn't want her to stop. "What do you need from me, Tony?"

He considers this as much as one can in a drowsy, drugged state. There's a lot that he wants of her, has wanted from her over the years. He wants her to understand, he wants her to stay with him, he wants her to be honest. But he's a genius above all else and most of all, he wants to learn.

"I need to know you," he whispers. "Not your aliases, you. I want to know you."

If she responds, he doesn't know. He lets the drugs pull him under into a blissful rest full of nothing but peace.

\- - - - - -

Tony is working on the Mark 42 armor and he isn't sure how long he's been awake. Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he sees nothing but alien ships floating in the vast darkness of space and he wakes to the feeling of falling, of not being able to breathe, of dying once again.

Other times, when he closes his eyes, he sees bright green eyes and vibrant red hair. He wakes slowly on those days, wanting sleep to pull him back under so he can dream some more.

Both are haunting in different ways.

It's terrifying, the idea that they're not alone in this world, that one day aliens will come and they won't be strong enough to stop them. Threat is imminent, and he needs to protect the few things he can't live without. And if that means sacrificing sleep in order to create then, well, Tony doesn't think it's a big trade off.

So he improves his armor and team equipment, he maximizes security on the tower and the mansion and he doesn't sleep for days at a time.

Now if he could just get the Mark 42 armor to come to him with a simple motion of his hands...

He hears her before he sees her and not just because JARVIS turns down his music. Her footsteps are heavy, contrary to the usual quietness she exudes. She only lets her steps make a sound when she's comfortable, trusting, which is something he's learned about her in the past few months.

"You've been down here for 58 hours, dorogoy." That's another thing; her voice is a soothing American only twinging on Russian when she lets the occasional pet name slip. Tony likes the Russian, it's a rough language but she makes it lighter.

"Nothing that hasn't happened before," he sighs and lets the faceplate of the suit fall to the floor with a metallic clatter.

"You're tired." It's not a question and, months ago, Tony would have found it irritating that she could see through him so easily. Now, he finds himself nodding his agreeance naturally.

When he turns to her his breath catches in his throat. She's in baggy gray sweatpants, his, and a loose black band tee, the name so faded he can't make it out from here. Also his. It's different from all of the times he met her for the first time, always so put together ready to complete whatever task she'd been assigned. He'd thought her beautiful in a dress, found her compelling in a skin-tight body suit and finds her just as captivating now in his clothes.

She looks comfortable, another thing he's learned in the past few months. She would sooner don a sweatshirt and leggings than a dress or armor. Just like he knows she prefers tea to coffee, books to movies, fall to summer and yellow to black. He knows the simple things but also knows her dreams, the fears that cause her to wake up in the middle night caught in a silent scream. He knows her fear of doctors, the way she resents how comfortable she is in the cold.

She looks so innocent, bare feet almost covered by the bottom of his sweatpants, but he knows she's just as dangerous now in his workshop as she's ever been in a fight.

Knowing all of that makes Tony's skin warm in a ridiculous surge of happiness that he can never seem to get a handle on. One day he swears he'll master the butterflies in his chest.

"You shouldn't walk barefoot in here," he finds himself saying distractedly. "You could cut yourself on something."

She ignores him and steps closer. Close enough that he can smell the scent of peonies from her body wash mixed with the scent of sandalwood and coffee that's entirely his own. He doesn't think it should be as arousing as it is.

"You've been down here for more than two days, Tony." She's cupping his cheek now, running one thumb across his cheekbone.

"Well, uh-" Tony clears his throat, gathering his thoughts. "-I've almost mastered the ability to call the armor to me on command. That way I'll never have to worry about having these ridiculous metal bands ever again."

She smiles at him then, a small, beautiful thing that manages to brighten her entire face. Not for the first time, he's struck by how breathtaking she is. This woman, stunning in her danger and so, so understanding that somehow, for some unknown reason, chose him... he can't wrap his mind around it.

"Natasha..."

"Hush, kotenok. New armor, huh? I believe a congratulations is in order."

He's taken back to a different day oh-so many years ago when they were both different people; Tony nothing more than the young Merchant of Death and Natasha no more than an unnamed woman in a pretty red dress. He thinks of how far they've come, how much they've been through since that day at the party and can't help but feel proud. And so lucky.

Tony never thought that he'd find someone who understands his past, embraces it even. He never thought his daydreams would be answered in the form of one Natasha Romanoff.

He doesn't answer at first opting to pull her close and wrap his arms around her waist, effectively trapping her against his body. Though he makes no mistake that she could get away if she really wanted to. He's absurdly pleased that she doesn't want to.

"Congratulations, huh?" He manages to breathe out through his wonder, looking deep into Natasha's green eyes. "It does seem like my lucky day."

Tony thinks that if he can manage to hold her like this at the end of everyday, then everyday might just be the luckiest day of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> dorogoy - darling  
> kotenok - kitten


End file.
